Future
by corneroffandom
Summary: What could've been.


A/N: A little fic to pay tribute to my favorite professor, and try to distract- perhaps even comfort- fellow Alan Rickman fans who are as sad as I am currently. Rest well, Alan, and thank you for bringing just a little bit more magic into all of our lives with your masterful performance as Severus Snape.

-x

The year is 2023. Harry Potter closes his eyes and breathes in that familiar Hogwarts air, smiling a little. He'd been here in the past, in different capacities- after all, he has three children in the school, and sometimes as an auror is invited over to talk to the children, especially career advice for those perhaps interested in becoming aurors as well. But a fluke injury, which had caused Ginny to fret- clearly reminding her of when Arthur had almost died due to Nagini- had led to Harry taking a leave of absence from his duties in the auror office until she looks less panicked whenever he approaches the front door.

Not permanently, but the timing had worked out well as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a tall, strict looking man that Harry had never met before, had needed some time off as well for a family emergency. Headmistress McGonagall had been an easy sell, clearly pleased to have one of her Gryffindors back under the roof. He finds, the more time passes that he's there, that he's glad to be there as well. It's comfortable, it's familiar. He takes the time to reconnect with teachers new and old, smiling at Sprout as she bustles past him, eager to return to Herbology.

As soon as she's gone by, he continues on his way down one flight of stairs and the next, waiting patiently for the staircases to stop rotating around. Once it's safe to proceed, Harry walks down to the dungeons and breathes in the musty air, tilting his head thoughtfully. How exactly Headmistress McGonagall had decided he'd be the one trustworthy enough for this job, Harry isn't sure, but it's become kind of a daily ritual, coming down here and nudging the professor up to prepare for the day ahead. He takes a breath, lifts his wand and unlocks the dungeon door with a swish of his wrist. Massive protective measures haven't been needed in this castle for years by now, so he doesn't worry about anything awful coming of it.

Once he's sure things are still quiet, peaceful, he slips into the dim room and peers around. There's soft breathing just audible from where he's standing and he smirks to himself, gripping his wand a bit tighter as he tiptoes through the office and into the sleeping quarters off to the side. The shape under the sheets is just visible and he takes in a deep breath, that old child-like fear returning to him for a moment. Even so, he steps up to the bed and stands over it, waiting. Finally, when this garners no reaction, the soft, even breathing of sleep continuing on unhindered, he smiles faintly. "Professor," he calls out. "It's time to wake up, or you're going to miss intimidating all of those first years."

Finally there's a stirring under the bedding, there's an annoyed grunt, and a bony hand waves dismissively at him before disappearing back into the warmth. "Professor," Harry insists. "You know I'm not leaving, so get up already." He sounds a little brattish, but it's on purpose, because that's what always gets a reaction out of the man.

Sure enough, Snape sits up with little warning a moment later, eyes flashing dangerously and hair- wispier and greyer, but still somehow aiding to make him seem even more imposing- all over the place, Harry grinning uncomfortably as his former teacher glowers up at him. "You again," he says, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees.

"Yes, me again," Harry agrees. "Headmistress wanted to make sure you're wide awake and eager for your new students this year." To ease the blow, he waves his wand and coffee, a couple hardboiled eggs and a stack of toast appears on a plate next to the bed.

Snape scoffs, reaching for the coffee and then slowly making his way through the eggs and bread. When in a vulnerable, sleepy moment like this, Harry can't help but trace the scars from Nagini's attack on him with his eyes, reflecting on what had nearly killed Snape all of those years ago. If not for Hermione lingering long enough to knit together the wounds with her burgeoning skills over healing spells, Snape wouldn't be sitting here right now. Wouldn't need woke up every morning, wouldn't be able to infuriate and remind Harry how indebted he is to him in the same five minutes almost daily.

With Voldemort's defeat, Snape's bitterness had faded slowly away too. Still broken, still recovering, but Lily's death somehow lost a little of its control over him bit by bit until he didn't look at Harry with as much derision whenever they ran into each other. The two of them not being stuck in the same school day in and day out probably helped with that, so by now, after so many years, they're able to be civil around each other.

Harry smiles a little, watching as Snape finishes eating and stands up, flicking his wrist to transform his sleep wear into his teaching robes, another flick of his wand taming his hair and leaving him prepared to teach the new students. Another relief had been that, although he's still a tense, perfectionist of a professor, Harry hadn't heard anything from his children about Snape making anyone cry the last few years, so that's good. He suspects that, with Voldemort not lurking, and the curse being off of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Snape had finally settled in his role as Potions Professor, accepted it as his own.

By the time James had started school, Snape had been teaching Potions again for a few years, his voice still a little weak and raspy due to scar tissue caused by Nagini's fangs. Harry had accompanied his son, watching curiously as Snape examined the room, his dark eyes resting momentarily on James as he purposely ignored Harry lurking in the back of the room. Subtle derision had formed across his face but he'd soon smoothed his expression out and resumed examining the room before starting the course, not bothering to target James as viciously as he had Harry his first day. Harry had been beyond relieved. His son's name would be enough to make Severus tense, but he looked nothing like his grandfather, and Harry suspected that had helped in the end.

Albus' introduction to the school a few years later, and Lily afterwards, had gone much smoother. Harry and Ginny had weighed names for a long time and, although Ginny had had a few ideas, when Harry had suggested his parents' names, and the two men who he wouldn't have made it this far without, her eyes had softened and she'd nodded, giving in easily enough. Even Severus couldn't be _overly_ angry towards the young man with his first name as his middle. Nor to the girl named after her grandmother.

Albus' uncertainty about being sorted into Slytherin disappeared when Snape had come to his rescue from some bullies a few days after the sorting ceremony, staring down at him over his hooked nose. "Tha- thank you, sir," he murmured.

"Go back to the Slytherin common room, young Potter," Severus had said, and that had been it. When Harry had heard, when the temporary job opening was filled, when he was back in helping range, he didn't mind taking advantage of such things, getting these moments. To check on Snape, to make sure he's hanging in there. Because if anyone's aware of how pointless things can feel after ending a long running confrontation, it's Harry. Sometimes he still works to find a purpose without Voldemort to fight, without the struggle to survive, to keep those he loves with him.

These memories still fresh on his mind, Harry waits until Snape turns away from him, adjusting the ends of his sleeves briskly. "You may go, Potter. I can take it from here." His voice is still sharp, still with a hint of insult, but Harry finds he doesn't mind as much as he did when younger.

"Yes, Professor," he says simply, moving towards the door. He hears more than sees as Snape waves his wand around, the subtle swishing of the wood in the air heralding the removing of the dishes and straightening out of the bedding, but through it all, Snape's voice is still distinguishable.

"Thank you, Potter."

Harry pauses for only a second, grinning to himself. "You're welcome," he says simply, before leaving the bedchambers and Snape to his business. Departing the dungeons, he peeks back once more. Whereas before this place had been one of the scariest of his life, he now realizes it's never really been that. Just lonely and sad, but with time and experience, gets a little better every day.

Humming to himself, he buries his hands in his pockets and leaves to prepare for _his_ first class of the day as well.


End file.
